


Stars, The Universe, and Other Trinkets.

by andy_allan_poe



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A Burn as Slow as Fuck, Alternate Universe, Family Fluff, Gen, Hurt!Crowley, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, No Betas We Fall Like Crowley, Other, Slow Burn, WHUMP!Crowley, currently i'm considering if i want to write smut or not, graphic description of body horror, idiots to lovers, parenting AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-05-19 08:03:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19352866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andy_allan_poe/pseuds/andy_allan_poe
Summary: In a moment of utter courage, delayed panic, and general stupidity, the demon Crowley takes a decision.This is the parenting!au everyone wants but we absolutely do not need, especially them.





	1. Prologue

##  In a moment of utter courage, delayed panic, and general stupidity, the demon Crowley takes a decision.

It was not unheard for said demon to be impulsive. He has taken rash decisions before. For example, just last week he decided to order a different dish than the same one he had for more than fifty years right when the waiter came by the table, feeling brave and in the mood for an adventure. The difference now is, that instead of ordering a different type of spaghetti alla bolognese, he is taking the dish he was supposed to leave to the loquacious satanic nuns and take it home with him.

The problem with this particular dish is that it was in fact no dish at all, unless you are that type of person of course, or just a very ferocious animal some grade higher than you in the food chain, but it was in fact a newborn child. The other problem with this newborn child, is that it was no normal child at all, being actually the destroyer of worlds bringer of doom prince of darkness son of Satan, the Antichrist.

Right now we see the demon Crowley, dressed in a male human body that was trying too hard to be cool, stand by the door, about to take a step. He does not technically need to breathe, but after some years it has become a comfortable habit to take a deep breath once in a while. He is carrying the destroyer of worlds bringer of doom prince of darkness son of Satan, the Antichrist, inside a tiny neat basket, which is actually not very appropriate nor sanitary for a newborn child. Crowley has just realized there are not one but  _ two  _ mothers giving birth right now, at this same hospital. If he were to be on of those unpleasant person called optimists, he for a moment would think this was some kind of sign from the universe, destiny giving him a lucky wink, or even God and her ineffable plan all along bringing him to this very moment.  Luckily he was not such a person.

The switch does happen, but then another, more secret one happens, and Crowley now finds himself walking anxiously to his car with what he said was the "extra baby", like he was one of those faerie that leave challenging child behind, if the faerie was a demon and actually took the challenging child with him. The author does not endorse in any was the concept on any children being considered challenging in any way, shape, nor form. Not even the orange hexagon one.

You know how the rest of the night goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on pretty much anywhere with andy-allan-poe.   
> Sometimes I say galaxy brain shit over here https://twitter.com/_aelita15?s=09   
> and here http://aelita15.tumblr.com/


	2. Chapter 2

##  A couple of nights ago…

“Angel, we need to talk.”

“Is this about…”

“The Armageddon, yes. It’s time.”

Aziraphale has not been very often in Crowley’s apartment. He honestly preferred his bookshop, and suspected the demon did too. Crowley’s apartment was big, spacious, and  _ empty _ . At least that’s how it felt to Aziraphale, who had a preference for cozy and familiar spaces. The problem with Crowley’s apartment was, it did not feel like Crowley  _ at all _ . In Aziraphale’s mind, Crowley was that little part of the back of his bookshop like his desk or his books might be, lounging drunk in his couch, talking about God knows what, with animated hands and maybe even walking around in that particular way of his, and talking in a way that might make someone believe he was a whole opera show in himself. If the small space in the back of the bookshop felt like a safe place to be oneself, Crowley’s apartment, ironically due to how spacious it was, it felt to him a bit  _ suffocating _ . Maybe he was just a bit of an antisocial, he thought to himself.

For reasons yet unexplained but assured to be absolutely necessary, they met at his apartment even if it was not one of their favorite rendezvous spots. Aziraphale even proposed if he would rather meet at his place instead of the park, but Crowley insisted that it was absolutely imperative for him to not leave the house at the moment, which of course was a very peculiar behavior from his part which of course only worried Aziraphale a bit more. He refused to explain why, better not say too much outloud.

Obviously, Crowley wanted to talk about the Armageddon, and he said he even had an idea on how to stop it, but Aziraphale, even after he has been offered some good alcohol, still refused. He hated the idea of it, of everything he loved soon to be destroyed, but what could he do? They both knew this day was about to happen. It was all planned. It was inevitable. Wasn’t it?

“What was that?”

“Uh.”

Another sound, like the first one but louder, came from one of the rooms.

“Crowley...” he whispered “Is someone here?”

Crowley’s face looked like he wanted to vomit. To be fair to him, he has been wearing that look since Aziraphale joined him in his apartment, but now any attempt to hide it behind a bit of coolness and dignity has disappeared. He was still wearing his shades.

“... You don’t want to know.”

Of course that immediately prompted the angel to get up from his chair and follow the origin of that noise, which consequently also prompted Crowley to follow and desperately trying to stop him, hands in front of him, babbling excuses. Aziraphale was not so much shorter than him, but he knew how to evade his attempts at blocking the passage pretty effortlessly. He heard a crash of someone falling over something behind him as he opened the door and saw a crib. His confusion gave Crowley enough time to jump between of him and the room, putting his hands on the sides of the doorframe, efficiently blocking view and passage.

To be clear, the situation in itself might have not been concerning to Aziraphale. Curious? Interesting, even? Absolutely. But his friend’s peculiar and agitated behaviour was foundation of deep concern. He gave him the benefit of the doubt.

“Crowley? Dear?”

“Mmhh?”

“What’s that?”

Crowley stared up at the ceiling. This human action usually meant, when done by humans, something along the lines of  _ Oh Lord grant me strength.  _ In this particular situation maybe he  _ was _ asking for whatany superior being for a miracle, but he also just couldn’t look at Aziraphale in the eyes.

The crib made another one of those noises, which sounded very closely to a wailing baby.

“...thatstheantichrist.”

“Pardon?”

“That’s the Antichrist.” He took a deep breath and gazed down, looking at him. “That’s… that’s the Antichrist. I stole the Antichrist. I let the american family and the other demons of the short have a perfectly normal human baby like they were supposed to, at least that’s what they thought, and that’s… that’s the Antichrist. With me. Right now. Right there. Son of Satan.”

Aziraphale was absolutely speechless.

“There… There were other babies, to make the switch, really. As far as anyone is concerned, that’s a perfectly normal human boy right there…”

Aziraphale was staring at him, mouth agape.

“... Hell doesn’t suspect anything, and they can’t really track or sense the kid anyway, so…”

Aziraphale felt like he didn’t need a flaming sword.

“So… I just need to look after him for a bit, make sure he doesn’t become evil incarnate... and tadà, apocalypse averted!”

“You… stole… the Antichrist.”

“Yes.”

“You… stole the Antichrist.”

“Yes.”

“You stole the Antichrist.”

“Yes.”

He closed his mouth.

“... WHAT ON EARTH WERE YOU THINKING?!”

Crowley didn’t answer.

“I mean I… this is absolutely crazy. This is beyond crazy, this is complete madness! What if they found you out? What if they find you out now? Do you even know what you are doing? Have you thought about how dangerous this is?! And who knows what’s gonna happen when the Armageddon is due, and maybe,  _ maybe, _ your plan worked and it doesn’t happen, then what will Hell think? I doubt they would just, let you be?  _ oh well maybe next time guys, let’s just go back to our business, no question asked,  _ eventually they will have to find out this was your doing, I… I can’t believe how insane this is…” He was pacing back and forth in front of Crowley in the small corridor, accordingly gesticulating to his feelings, something that he usually didn’t do. Crowley was just staring at him, silently.

“Alright! Alright… maybe we can... bring him back? Without anyone noticing? We’ll think of something. We’ll make sure everything will be alright, as nothing happened! Everything will be alright! Good! Nice plan! You drive.”

Crowley stood in between him and the door.

“Crowley… please.”

Crowley thought very hard about it.

He really wasn’t one to do the  _ right thing _ , and humans probably did not deserve his little act of heroism. Aziraphale was right, of course he was, Crowley already thought each single one of those things the angel mentioned and even more.. And wasn’t this supposed to happen anyway? Wasn’t this what demons were working for all these years? Nah, to appeal to his demonic pride wouldn’t work, he really didn’t have any.

He wasn’t a coward. He was absolutely terrified of the repercussions, yes, but… he really did not feel like he even had a choice. He already made his choice.

“... No.”

“Crowley…”

“No. I.. I can’t. No.”

“Crowley, they will  _ destroy  _ you. If Hell… if Heaven… if  _ anyone _ finds you stole the son of Satan and tried to avert the End, you… you would be completely  _ destroyed.  _ Crowley.  _ Please.”  _

Aziraphale never had to beg him.

“Please.”

“... If I…” he took a deep breath “ If I don’t… Angel, if I don’t do something,  _ everything  _ will be destroyed. Would any of it even matter, after all of that…?” 

Aziraphale didn’t come back until much later.

He sat down beside Crowley, who was currently feeding the small child with a bottle. He remembers how to do it. Humans said he was a natural.

“... ‘thought you left.”

“Mmh.”

“What, you came up with more things to yell at me? Let me save your time, angel, because I already know how frickingly stupid and dangerous-” This might be a surprise for some, but Crowley really wasn’t the one to  _ really  _ snap, not to Aziraphale for sure, at least. But he was feeling tired, and scared. And alone.

“I can’t let you do this, my dear.” He whispered. “Alone, I mean! I can’t let you do this alone!” 

“...Oh.”

“It is incredibly dangerous but, it would be even more dangerous to be completely on your own… Oh, don’t misunderstand, I think you are completely capable of taking care of yourself and even pulling this off, you are a grown demon after all, ahah…” He awkwardly laid a hand on his shoulder “... And you said it yourself! It’s the upbring that matters! So, if you would ever want an, er, angelic influence… I’m here.” He cough slightly “... If you will have me, of course.”

“Ah.” Crowley looked away for a moment. The child was laying on his other shoulder and he was softly patting his back with his free hand “I guess I could use some help…”

Aziraphale smiled.

 

* * *

 

##  "This is absolutely backwards, uh, dear? Did you know that male couples must get a parental order from the court before they can be registered as parents? What a ridiculous thing. Males are perfectly able to give birth, if they so choose."

"Just put me down as the mother, then"

"Mmh"

"I mean, technically aren't I related to the kid anyway? He's like my, uh, nephew or something."

"Well when you put it that way…"

Aziraphale was wearing that pair of absolutely ridiculous glasses that he very much did not need, and even if he wanted to keep appearance, it was just the two of them in the apartment. Well, three of them.

"Just put down "mother", it's easier that way."

"Crowley, you asked for my help, and if we want this to work without raising any suspicious, we have to do it right." Crowley was about to say that, technically,  _ he _ actually offered his help to  _ him _ , since Crowley didn't really even get to the point to explain the situation in a manner that could be considered "asking for help." In his opinion, at least. 

Instead, he opted for a safer: "Yes, I know, I know. No miracles that may attract someone's attention. It's not the humans that I'm worried about right now."

"Mmh."

It was early afternoon, Aziraphale has left the night before with the promise of help, and came back around noon with a pile of documents and some books. And his pair of glasses. Crowley was walking around, long hair up in a bun (the kid already seemed to have developed a liking for getting his tiny little fingers in stuff that should not be in his tiny little fingers, and pulling with all the strength of a two days old baby, which was surprisingly more than expected), gently rocking the child, which was virtually unnecessary but the demon seemed like it was absolutely out of the question for him to put him back in his crib anytime soon. He didn't need rest anyway.

"They're asking for things like date and place of birth here."

"Chattering Order of St. Beryl, Tadfield, England. June 6."

"Really? June 6 2006? 6/6/6? Such cliché."

"You tell me, angel."

"Parent's name and address… Anthony James Crowley, London-"

"I will probably move out soon anyway."

"You what?"

Aziraphale looked up from the papers in front of him, deciding to instead direct his attention to his friend.

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know, just… I figured I wanted to lay low for a while, maybe. You know."

"I mean yes, that makes sense, and London is hardly the place to raise a kid anyway, I have no idea how they do it..." He pointed out the window with his pen "... but I thought you loved London? You have always been here as far as I remember" Crowley decided to not mention that it wasn't London that he loved. "and wouldn't they be able to detect you anyway, at some point? Yes you can hide your tracks for a while but…" he sighed "I don't know how you could hide from them for long actually."

"Well, if the kid can do it, it must be possible, somehow. Right?"

"I mean I… I don't know. Well." Now Aziraphale was curious. Which wasn't necessary a good thing. Unless you're also a nerd. "Each being, divine or not, has a tractable uh, presence, of the sort. It's easier to follow one you are most familiar with, like when you recognize a face in a crowd… or you can sense things in general, you wouldn't know specifics but you could still feel  _ something _ . Even I could recognize your aura anywhere, and I'm an angel! I imagine it must be easier for other demons to recognize each other.”

Crowley wanted to feel offended, but he wasn’t wrong. He reasoned he  _ could _ still feel offended, right or wrong, but it didn’t matter now. Aziraphale was still talking.

“I have some books I could look over to see if maybe, a ritual? I doubt we can recreate- oh, I need a name.”

“Mh?”

“A name, Crowley. For the child.” He motioned back at the papers on the coffee table.

Crowley blinked. “Right.”

“You didn’t think of a name?”

He stumbled on his words, even if calling them words would be an overstatement. At some point actual words came out of his mouth and they sounded like this: “Oh I uh well was a bit  _ distracted _ , you know… with the whole…” he gestured vaguely with his free hand “... thing. And, you know, why don’t  _ you _ think of a name if you’re so smart anyway?” Aziraphale gave him a look, a long look. Then gestured to the empty spot on the couch next to him, because Crowley’s anxious-walking around the room was going to give him an headache. Metaphorically.

Crowley sat down.

“Now, a name, names names names…” Aziraphale put the pen on his lips in a ticking motion, thinking. “It should be a very, uh, normal, regular human name, but we don’t want to be  _ too  _ obvious… It needs to be English sounding I suppose, since you’re from England and the kid is from England, supposedly at least… But it also needs to be a name that  _ you  _ would give a kid… And oh please something nice! Yes, yes.” He seemed excited at the idea of naming the Antichrist. “But names have meanings and power… it might influence who he will become, mh… What are some popular baby names right now?”

“Uh, James?”

“No.”

“Fine.”

“What about Charlie? That’s modern English isn’t it?”

“Too depressing. Makes me think of Britain, in the awful weather way.”

“You’re right. Something to do with literature then, maybe? What do you think of David?”

“Wasn’t that the guy that killed Goliath with a sling that one time?”

“Oh, yes. Very talented young man. I was thinking about Florence. And the actor, very handsome.”

“Concentrate, angel. All the names that humans came up with have already some religious thingy going on. Not that’s bad, I just want to make sure he doesn’t feel like he has to pick sides, you know. Good and evil, whatever.”

Aziraphale kept silent for a moment, pensive. Crowley looked up at the ceiling and considered the name of some stars. Antares. Andromeda. Pollux. Benedict. Orion. Too complicated. He imagined the kid trying to learn how to say it. That was a good reason to destroy the world, a shitty name. And other kids these days were  _ awful _ . Well, that’s not entirely true, they always were. He thought about the planets. Oh no, the Greek gods already had enough of a ego as it was, those amateurs. He wasn’t gonna name his kid after them. His kid?

“Adam.”

“Uh?”

“Adam. That’s a nice name, isn’t it?”

Crowley came back from his mind trip. Closed the mind door in his mind house, left the mind luggage unpacked, and threw himself on the mind couch. “I guess?”

“It’s very human, when you think about it. So, neither heavenly nor hellish. Just human.”

Aziraphale had a point.

“Adam.”

“Yes.”

“Nono, I’m just trying it out. Adam. Aaadaaaam. Adam, would you mind closing the door, dear? Adam! You’re in big trouble young man! Adam.”

“...”

“... I can work with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why am I so fuckin dramatic, holy shit,
> 
> Find me around https://twitter.com/Andy_Allan_Poe


	3. Chapter 3

##  Time tends to be a tricky thing for people who aren't adjusted to the 24th dimension. 

For mortal earthly beings, whom are the majority of the readers of this little thing (but not the only ones, don't be rude), time tends to act as if it were a river and they were leafs on its surface, simply following the current. For these mortal beings, time had a start and an end, with a very short in between characterized by a very fast paced change of the amount of light in the sky.

Now, if you were to be very, very old, old enough to see time more as a pond than a river, and also were to have a tendency to not need sleep, or simply be absolutely unaware of how much time has "passed" when very focused on a task, time can also be tricky, especially if you are trying to pretend to be a mortal earthly being.

Crowley, with all the spirit of a new parent who absolutely was not ready for this, or of a student who thinks there is enough time to study for the test (some may argue this is just the same spirit going around making lives miserable, but nothing has been proved yet), did not realize how the meeting that was supposed to be in five months was suddenly "today". To be fair, the meeting  _ was _ in five months. And then it was in two months. And then in a couple of weeks. Very tricky thing indeed, time.

"He needs to take a nap by three, and have you seen the little toy, with the keys? Hand it to him if he starts getting fussy. Make sure it's clean! He puts it in his mouth. Maybe he's teething? It shouldn't happen until he's at least six months. No I can't this can't be happening. I can't go. I shouldn't go. This is a nightmare."

"Crowley."

"If he's teething there's a cream that should help with the pain. It has a little blue stripe with a white one underneath. Don't confuse it  with the big one! That's for something else."

"Crowley."

"I should have put a label on it. Do they put labels on things these days? Never trust big corporations, angel, once I saw a baby formula that-"

"Crowley!"

The demon in question suddenly looked up from his anxious-packing of contracts and paperworks that Hell loved to make him do. He already had everything he needed, and he also did not need to check again, mostly because he never felt the need to before. But now everything had to be perfect, he didn't want anyone to pop up and check on him with a horrendous surprise inspection from the department of Agents - Earth Sector. Or any department, really. Aziraphale was standing in front of him, little three months old Adam in his arms, who was currently eyeing the funny bowtie with the same intent of a scientist finding a perfectly preserved dinosaur in their backyard. Contrary to Crowley, he was not worried at all about being left for less than a day to someone that wasn't Crowley. This might be also because, he was actually pretty accustomed to Aziraphale's presence. It was Crowley that wasn't accustomed to Crowley's absence.

"Dear, I know how to take care of a human baby. This isn't "my first rodeo", as they say. Truly, I find your lack of trust offensive, almost."

"It's not that I don't trust you! It's just, what if something happens? And I'm not here? What if he starts crying and thinks I've abandoned him and he's never going to look at me in the eyes again? I can't go."

"You have to."

"I don't want to."

"Crowley."

"FINE. But only because I don't want Hell to come and get fancy ideas. If anything happens, call me. I'll leave my phone on."

"Dear, we'll be perfectly fine. You don't need to worry, just go. We'll see you later." Aziraphale decided that a stronger weapon was required, so he smiled. "I promise." Crowley waved a white flag, which looked like a deep breath and a soft "... Alright." He left the apartment shortly after.

Aziraphale went to get the one of the bottles of milk. "So." He started heating it up just to the right temperature. "Fancy a little stroll to the park?"

 

* * *

 

The meeting was in room A-201 but due to a recent accident involving a _this is hell what else did you expect?_ Crowley had to take a detour through the department of British Food Without Any Influence From Anywhere Else In The World which smelled and tasted like what you can imagine, just to get in front of the new meeting room, A-202, and remembering that a memo was passed a couple of years ago that agents needed to turn in their assignments  _ before _ the meetings. For efficiency purposes, of course.

The lady at one of the desks he approached seemed like she enjoyed taking her time looking over every single letter on the papers Crowley handed her. He glanced up at one of the clocks on the wall. It kept ticking on the same spot. He glanced back down.

"You're missing the report about the baby."

Crowley in that moment knew how it must feel like to chug down a bottle of holy water. He gulped.

"What baby."

"Duke Hastur told Duke Ligur that the Chattering Nuns said that  _ you _ said you were gonna take the "extra baby" under your wing. Nefarious plans and all that. Usually you do more "bigger scale" stuff, so word got around." She shrugged "Got curious on how that was going. Guess nothing much yet." She went back on typing on the old, awful, typewriter. He thought he introduced them to computers  _ ages  _ ago.

"Ah. That baby."

"Mh."

"Nothing remarkable yet. Just, you know, normal baby stuff. For now. Yeah."

"Can't wait to see what you come up with this time."

"Yeah me too."

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Uh, see you later, alligator." And left so fast he almost forgot she actually was, an alligator.

 

* * *

 

Autumn was  _ lovely _ , in London.

The awful humid heat of the summer was packing up and moving out for college, leaving in its place a not-awful humid temperature of bearable sun and wind, the perfect mix when people want to go out to remind their mind and bodies that yes, this is what life is truly about. A lovely smell of freshly cut grass and fallen leaves was gently accompanying a figure who was peacefully strolling with a stroller in the park. Adam was taking in all these new sensations with the wonder of a… baby. Some kids nearby were joyfully yelling on the playground. A runner with a dark ponytail and some headphones blasting music passed by, but they will not damage their ears, today. There was the smell of something spicy and warm in the air, and Aziraphale was feeling quite in the mood for some food.

"So  _ that's _ what you've been up to."

A voice came from behind him, startling the Angel. Specifically, because he knew to whom that voice belonged.

"My my, Aziraphale, I didn't think you had it in you. Congratulations!" Gabriel patted his back a bit too strongly.

"Thank you, I… uhm, I'm sorry?"

"I was wondering when you were going to enjoy this particular aspect of humanity. How funny, almost six thousand years and you decide to experience sex right at the end! And you got a spawn out of it too. Too bad it won't really live for long, this one. Or anything else around here, if everything goes according to plan." 

Aziraphale felt like his soul was leaving his mortal vessel and taking a trip to another universe for just how awkward and uncomfortable this whole conversation was. He rarely felt that way. "I believe there has been a misunderstanding."

"Not yours? Yeah we all say that, and then they turn into saints! Pff!" Gabriel made one of those expressions were his whole face would contract but he could still look  _ better _ . He was laughing. "Not that it would really matter now, anyway. I got some business to attend to down south, some important stuff that will help us in the upcoming war. Not that we need help, but, you know the higher-ups. Have fun with the kid!" And with that, he disappeared.

They stood there for a couple more moments, Angel and kid, processing what just happened. Aziraphale wasn't feeling in the mood for food anymore. He walked them back to Crowley's apartment.

 

* * *

 

The meeting was a bunch of stuff about how some situations around the world were improving, which was bad, that more effort was required from the agents from now on, in preparation for the upcoming war. To assure souls for their Master meant to assure energy and resources for them. Some demons were sent around to retrieve ancient demonic weapons, or to follow up on curses to make sure the right people were at the right place at the right time. The room was frizzled with energy and enthusiasm, which in demon terms means a lot of yelling and throwing of chairs. Summaries of old reports were made, new assignments were given, and then the demons were allowed to go. Crowley thought that leaving right away might be suspicious, so he stayed and mingled for a bit. Then he remembered he never really enjoyed other demons' company, so he left.

Before going back to his apartment, he quietly and quickly convinced a recently passed soul to go and retrieve something for him. Then he sent another soul to retrieve that soul, because they probably wouldn't make it back if they managed to do what he asked. After a while, the souls came back, one looking a bit confused, the other holding a little flask full of liquid. The soul passed the flask to Crowley, from between the bars of their cell. 

"Are you sure it's the right one?"

"Yeah." The soul glanced over the confused one "Yeah it is." 

"Ah, I see: an academic. Don't worry about your friend, they'll be back to normal in a couple of decades. Unless they went for a swim."

"Mh, yeah... Hey man?" The soul pressed their face within the bars. Crowley hunched over closer, listening. "You're a demon, right? Since I did this thing for you, could you let me out? I won't cause any trouble, really."

"Mh. I don't know. Depends what you did." He stared at the poor soul in the eyes. Then made a disgusted face. "Really? That's low, man." Crowley started walking away.

"Ehy! EHY! COME BACK HERE!"

"Good luck with your mother! I'm sure she will be less forgiving than I was, when she rolls around."

"NO! LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT OF HERE!! NOO!!"

Crowley was already back on Earth.

 

* * *

 

" _ Quel color che viltà di fuor mi pinse _

_ veggendo il duca mio tornare in volta, _

_ più tosto dentro il suo novo ristrinse. _ " 

Aziraphale made some very serious and exaggerated expressions to accompany to the words he was reciting.

" _ Attento si fermò com’uom ch’ascolta; _

_ ché l’occhio nol potea menare a lunga _

_ per l’aere nero e per la nebbia folta. _ "

He lowered his face to Adam's level, turning his head and cupping his ear with one hand, like he was trying to listen very closely to what very important thing Adam was about to say. 

_ "Pur a noi converrà vincer la punga", _

_ cominciò el, "se non ... Tal ne s’offerse. _

_ Oh quanto tarda a me ch’altri qui giunga!" _

Adam was absolutely delighted by the display of Aziraphale telling him a story. He might not understand any of the words, but the acting really made it for him.

" _ I’ vidi ben sì com’ei ricoperse _

_ lo cominciar con l’altro che poi venne, _

_ che fur parole a le prime diverse; _ "

Aziraphale gently booped Adam's little nose, who then smiled and started kicking excitedly his little legs.

"Really, angel? Dante?"

"Reading to him from an early age helps him develop his language proficiency." He turned and smiled toward the demon, who just entered the apartment.

"Which language? Medieval italian?" Crowley walked toward the couch and kneeled in front of him and Adam, taking his little hand in his and shaking it a bit. Adam started kicking again, happy to see him. "And you aren't really reading, you know Dante by memory."

"I know  _ all _ of them by memory." He said with a hint of pride, or he would have if he weren't an angel that definitely did not dwell in such things. "You look tired, dear."

"And you look worried."

"I'm not worried."

Crowley glanced over from behind his sunglasses "Nice try, angel."

He  sighed "You're avoiding the topic."

"Mmmhh mmh" Added Adam helpfully.

 

* * *

 

"He's asleep." Aziraphale entered the room. Crowley was sitting on the coffee table, facing him, and when he saw the angel approaching, he pulled out the flask from his jacket and placed it down, staring at him intently. Aziraphale knew what was inside that flask. He stopped on his tracks.

"I thought we discussed this already, dear."

"There have been developments."

"Ah."

Aziraphale took a deep breath and sat down on the couch in front of his dear friend. He gave himself a moment, shut his eyes and rubbed his temples, before resuming the conversation he would rather not have.

"We don't even know if it would work."

"I know."

"It would be excruciatingly painful."

"I know."

"It… no, _I_ , could destroy you. For good, Crowley."

"I know."

They were discussing quietly, not wanting to wake up Adam.

"Maybe I can find something else, if I got just a little bit more time-"

"We're out of time, I'm afraid."

Time was a very tricky thing.

Aziraphale sighed. He laid his head on the back of the couch, staring to a random point out of focus on the wall.

The developments Crowley was talking about, were that Hell knew he got a kid. Luckily they didn't know he was the Antichrist yet, but now, thanks to the chattering nuns that were, in fact,  _ chattering _ , Hell would keep an eye on this "new project" of his. Hell could also require that he dropped it and focus more on the upcoming war, or they could love the idea of the kid and just keep pestering him, which eventually would cause them to realize that Adam was no regular kid at all. He also knew they didn't trust him already, and to be fair, they were right since he was in cahoot with an angel trying to stop the apocalypse and stealing Satan's kids.

All of these were already concerns that have afflicted Crowley since day one, but now they became more real. So he had to hide.

An idea of a plan that Aziraphale and him came up with was that Crowley needed to fake his death. That wasn't hard, just get an angel to smite you and back to Hell you go. Or get an angel to properly destroy you and back to Nothing you go. The hard part was that Crowley had no intention to go back to Hell or be destroyed, so they would need to make sure Crowley could  _ hide _ .

The problem with divinity is, if you are a creature accustomed to it, it's pretty obvious to detect. That's how humans got witches and other fun stuff . But of course over the years, as a rule evolves, at the same time it also evolves a way to break it. Yes, you can hide from your enemies and from your threats. The hard part is hiding from your own people.

Crowley was staring at Aziraphale.

"... I'm sorry."

"For what, my dear?"

"Because you are the only one I trust do to this. And also, probably the only one who could, in the whole creation." And he smiled.

Aziraphale, over the course of these months, has made some pretty heavy research regarding a number of different stuff, seemingly unconnected. There really wasn't an instruction book on  _ how to hide your own divinity without dying (for dummies!), _ so he was building all of this up on just random theories and stories, hoping that the combination of the various runes and sigils and miracles could possibly give the desired result. It was a  _ long _ shot. And Crowley knew it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also here https://twitter.com/_aelita15


	4. Chapter 4

## A week later, in the middle of St. James Park, a burnt shadows of two huge majestic wings would appear on the ground. 

Around that same time, a flat in Mayfair, London, would burn down, flames miraculously leaving everything else around it untouched. Not that at the moment of the fire the flat was containing anything of importance anyway, but that knowledge was reserved to only two beings in the whole universe, the narrator of this little story, and anyone else reading it.

 

That night, a storm of unexplained origins was, well, _storming_ in the cold skies of London. The air was filled with electricity, and parents all around the city were consoling their little children telling them that there was no need to be afraid of the powerful thunders shaking their windows, telling them stories of how it was just the angels singing loudly.*

 

*As unbelievable as it might sound, the narrator of this little thing has in fact once been what the mortal human equivalent would be called a “child”, and caretakers of said “child” have in fact told the story of thunderstorms being just very loud angelic concerts. I did not enjoy angelic music very much.

 

They weren't far off. The origin was, indeed, angelic (and demonic), but it was no concert at all, as much as you might like that kind of music. Each thunder was a clash of divine swords between two being, flying in the sky at lightning speed, until it stopped in the middle of St. James Park, and rain started pouring down, revealing, as the fog lifted, the ground carrying the scar of a divine death. 

Or at least, that’s what Aziraphale and Crowley hoped to archive with their little play.

 

Objects were just objects, and Crowley tended to live a very sparse lifestyle. Inconspicuously, during the course of the week preceding his seemingly death, he moved the limited number of things he cared about down to a cottage close to Denmead, in southern England. The limited human documents that he and Adam had were british, therefore moving far far away in another country would have not been a great idea, even if the objective was to hide their scents and the first instinct to do that was to run far away. However, since Crowley was going to take a little pause with his divinity, the close presence of Aziraphale was reassuring, and what better way to hide if not in plain sight? And if their plan did not work and, worst case scenario, Crowley was no more, Aziraphale thought it would be better for him to be close. He did not share this thought with Crowley.

 

As brave and fearless and virtuous our dear demon may seem to the reader right now, willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good of not destroying humanity and possibly hanging around his angel a little longer, Crowley was actually convinced he was feeling the worst feeling he has probably ever felt on this Earth. He has felt way worse actually, and he will feel worse, he is just being dramatic.

Current mortals reading this have not yet generally unlocked the state of being that allows the narrator of this little thing to properly describe the spiritual feeling the demon Crowley was experiencing in that moment (except for the human Farah, she is doing great), but an analogy that works pretty well would be the description of similar corporeal, material, experiences: Crowley was feeling like his head was being compressed from all sides, and his brain wanted to escape through each single hair on his head, but it just started to figure out that said hair were not hollow tubes. Humans call this _very bad anxiety_. 

Did he want to undergo a very experimental operation that quite possibly would leave him either without his divinity, dead, or some monstrous combination of the two? Of course not. He was utterly terrified. But he had this coming from the second he decided to get out of that hospital with Adam. He could not back down now (actually, he could, and Aziraphale would have loved to help him back down from this awful stupid dangerous wonderful thing he was doing, which was exactly the reason why he did not share with Aziraphale how fucking terrified he was.) 

Crowley was actually only trying to find excuses to justify his own bravery and selflessness to himself. He hated it.

 

* * *

 

He was holding the flask that he used to collect some of the water from the river Lethe, with the now added Ether and a sigil drawn on the outside of the flask that Crowley wasn’t sure what it meant. He was supposed to drink some of it and then, apparently, wake up the next day in his new life as a run-away demon. The rest was up to Aziraphale.

“Well,” Crowley raised the drink in front of him “ _Salute._ ” and guided the flask to his mouth. Aziraphale stopped picking at his own hands and quickly held the flask in place before Crowley could take a sip.

“Aziraphale-”

“Just…” He took a deep breath. “Just give me a moment, Crowley. Just a moment.” He was holding his hands mid-air, trembling slightly, eyes closed. He took another deep breath. Crowley hated seeing his friend like this. Crowley hated being the cause of his friend great discomfort. He has seen him irritated, offended, even upset before, but never like this. Crowley took a second to imagine a universe where he wasn’t there, and Aziraphale was alone. He couldn’t bear.

“I’ll be back.” He was looking at Aziraphale closed eyes with the intensity of a promise, and was speaking with the softness of a goodbye.

Aziraphale scoffed lightly “My dear you cannot possibly know-”

“No.” He took his face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together. Aziraphale was forced to look at him in the eyes, but that was mostly a problem for Crowley than for him. “No, I’m making a promise here, angel. I’m not going anywhere. Azrael can bite my ass, quite honestly.” They smiled to each other, imagining the ridiculous notion of Crowley rudely telling the Angel of Death that he could come back later. They stayed like that, foreheads pressed together, Crowley holding his face, looking at each other in the eyes, for one more moment. Then they let go.

“I’ll… well, I guess I’ll see you in a bit, my dear.”

“Yes.”

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.” He lied. “Are you?”

Aziraphale gave a decisive nod.

“Well then…” Crowley took a swing off the flask and fell unconscious. 

 

 

He woke up shortly after.

Crowley felt like each atom of his body was trying to rearrange itself. Breathing was hard. He understood how it must feel like to be a nuclear reactor.

“Shit!” With his blurred vision Crowley saw a figure on top of him that he assumed must have been Aziraphale. He was holding a black feather (one of his own), dripped in ink and blood. “Not now!”

Crowley felt like there were nail screws currently being pressed in his cranium. Could his bones pulse? He was pretty sure that was not something they usually did. He slowly started to move his hand to check that there actually weren’t any screws getting in his brain. Aziraphale quickly held him down.

“Don’t move! I’m not done yet!”

Crowley felt like he was burning so hot that his skin was peeling off. He could feel some blood dripping off his chest from where Aziraphale was drawing the sigil. He wasn’t sure which one of those sensations was real. 

“I’m so sorry my dear, but you’ll have to endure. If I stop now I- Fuck.” He pressed down the feather and kept working.

If he weren’t in so much pain, Crowley would have enough sense of self to understand that Aziraphale was quite agitated. Wonder how it feels like to hold into your hands the soul of the person you love most, slowly dripping away like fine sand. Wonder how it feels like to be a castle of sand about to be washed off the shore. That’s how Aziraphale was feeling.

As Aziraphale was working, to his credit trying to go as fast as possible in order to limit his friend’s pain, Crowley felt like his consciousness was running all over the place. He wasn’t sure if the light he was seeing was because of the brain-splitting pain or the sigil being enchanted. At this point he could hardly be sure of anything, less of all he could hardly be. He didn’t know he was screaming until he felt like his body was trying to throw up his consciousness. The back of his throat was sore, and his whole body jumped in a involuntary movement. Convulsions. They kept going for a couple of seconds, but Crowley couldn’t feel them anymore, for the simple reason that Crowley wasn’t there to feel them.

 

 

 

Aziraphale had never felt such fury his whole life. In comparison, Crowley asking for holy water centuries ago was a polite handshake. 

The sigil, now completed, was powering down, light slowly dimming. The wound on Crowley’s shoulder accidentally caused by the convulsions, has been attended, the human way. Aziraphale did not want to risk adding angelic healing into the mix. He wasn’t sure if it would unbalance the whole process. He wasn’t sure if the whole process was balanced in the first place. He wasn’t sure if Crowley was breathing or not.

Aziraphale kept telling himself that he couldn't find a pulse just because he was too agitated. Shaking, he started to perform CPR. When he lowered down the third time to breath into Crowley’s mouth, the light of the sigil completely turned off, leaving in its place a very unique tattoo in the middle of the chest. Crowley took a breath and shoot his eyes open. They darted around for a bit until they managed to focus on Aziraphale’s face. His irises were a wonderful hazel color, with a black dot in the middle instead of the usual line. He managed to notice that Aziraphale’s eyes were awfully red before the angel lowered down and gently held Crowley’s head in a very uncomfortable hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on pretty much anywhere with andy-allan-poe.  
> Sometimes I say galaxy brain shit over here https://twitter.com/_aelita15?s=09  
> and here http://aelita15.tumblr.com/


End file.
